Coral
by zootycoon346
Summary: Coral and Scratch are escapees from the School. But when they try to join the flock, tension raises. Will they break the flock apart?
1. Prologue: Run

_Coral_

**Prologue: Run**

I ran, aiming for the treeline. It was my only hope of escape – no, living - because being back there was only surviving.

I could hear Erasers behind me, panting heavily through their muzzles. Erasers – half-human, half-wolf, all evil slathering… evil.

Adrenaline racing, I burst through the trees, being scratched by reaching briars and brambles. I glanced back, hoping not to see any Erasers. They were gaining. _Damn!_

I looked round, hoping for an escape route.

I took a running jump, and grabbed a low branch. I pulled myself up, and grabbed another, higher branch. I kept climbing, even when the Erasers – four of them – exploded out of the bushes. One snarled menacingly.

I was up in the higher branches by then, and swayed alarmingly in the slightest breeze. I tried not to look down.

"Are you coming down, little mutant?" one asked tauntingly.

"I'm never going back to that hellhole!" I shout angrily.

"But you are," he said, and launched himself at the tree.

_There's only one last thing I can do, _I think.

I take a deep breath, and I…

…jump …

from the tree…


	2. Chapter 1: Safe

**Chapter 1: Safe**

**Sorry about the short chapters and the length in between updating. I have a short attention span. And yes, this fanfic starts similar to 'The Angel Experiment'.**

"Waaargh!" I suddenly sit up in bed, panting heavily. I am drenched in sweat. _That dream again. It always ends the same, me jumping from the tree. No, it's more of a nightmare._

I blearily get up, shivering slightly in my short nightgown. I look over at the window. Its open, and the curtains are floating in the chill wind. I walk over, and quickly close the window before it gets any colder. I don't want to catch a cold, then I'd be stuck inside for weeks. I hate being stuck inside. I'm really outdoorsy – _Is that a word? _– so being inside for ages would be close to the Nightmare. But not in front of it.

I rummage in my drawers for some clothes. I grab some tracksuit bottoms, a yellow t-shirt and a tight-fitting jumper. _I really need some new clothing,_ I think, struggling into the jumper.

I head out of my room and beeline down the corridor to the kitchen. Halfway down, I smell bacon – burning. Someone swears in the kitchen. I sigh, and open the door. Scratch is there, trying to salvage the frazzled bacon.

"Scratch." He jumps, alarmed, and spins round in a karate position. I laugh. "Scratch," I say again. "I'll cook."

He looks ashamed. "I thought I'd just try-"

"Oh, Scratch, you know you're hopeless at cooking. I'll do it."

He moodily steps aside and allows me to look at the bacon. "I'm the better fighter though," he mutters.

"Yes, because you're stronger and older by three years." _Roughly. He still acts like a three-year-old sometimes. Boys. _I examine the burnt mess that was once bacon. "I'll have to start again. Throw that out for the wolves." Scratch grabs the pan and mooches over to the window. He scrapes the mess over the canyon. It falls, down, down, down, where it will become one hungry carnivore's breakfast.

Still, it can't come up, looking for more. We're safe up here.


	3. Chapter 2: Breakfast Conversation

**Chapter 2: Breakfast Conversation**

I sit down at the small table. The aroma of cooking – not burnt – bacon fills the air, and Scratch inhales deeply. "I'm so hungry," he murmurs.

"Still got five minutes," I say, getting up. "Have some cereal." I grab a bowl and shove it in front of him.

He fills it with cereal, and as we have no milk, lifts the bowl to his mouth and tips the contents down his throat. "You have _no _table manners," I complain, flipping a pancake.

"Never needed them." He helpfully grabs a couple of plates and slides them across the table to me. I dollop two pancakes on each, accompanied by a generous helping of golden syrup. Scratch grabs one plate, but is stopped by my steely glare.

"Wait," I say, taking forks and knives and setting them out on the table. "Now." I turn away from the gruesome scene, and busy myself with the eggs.

Soon, the table is filled with food. Scratch is on his third egg, fifth rasher of bacon, and ninth pancake. I am on my fourth rasher of bacon, but my fifteenth pancake. I don't eat eggs.

"Dashed over to town earlier," Scratch mumbles through pancake. "Got a newspaper and some food for the chickens."

"Great. Give me the paper." He hands over the newspaper, which is slightly torn. I flick through it, then gasp when I reach a page. "It's them, Scratch, it's them!"

"Who?" he asks, swallowing his bacon.

I read the article aloud. "The widely known flock will be flying over the forests of Montana later this week. Scratch, maybe they'll fly near us! We could meet them!"

Scratch looks at the paper, a happy look spreading over his face.

"Hey, here's where they're flying over. Oh, it's torn right there…" I look at Scratch icily.

"It was windy!"

"Mmm hmm." You see, we're just like the flock.


	4. Chapter 3: My Secret

**Chapter 3: My Secret**

**I will be quite sporadic at updates, but thank you if you read. And thanks to ButterTardis for reviewing! Also, I have not read Angel or Nevermore so if I've missed something, oops... Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride or the flock. They belong to the amazing James Patterson. Scratch and Coral are my own characters.**

Scratch is washing up. I'm sitting at the table, staring at the newspaper. I can't concentrate, I'm too excited. "Scratch?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going for a fly."

"'Kay." I stand up and walk through the living room to the porch. I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the porch, sticking out into the canyon. I feel the wind caressing my face, smile, and step out into the currents of air.

My wings snap out, pale and silent. I catch a warm air current and spiral upwards. I feel so free in the air, like a bird. Well, I guess I am part bird. I angle northwards and pass over deep pine forests. I land on a huge outcrop of rock, jutting above the forest. It's my favourite place to relax. It's out of site of the house, secluded.

Birds fly across the sky. I may have been transformed without my consent, but it's amazing. I've also been given, certain, powers. I can hear the birds. But it's a secret.

I head back to the house later. As I approach, a dark shape detaches itself and swoops up to greet me. It's Scratch.

"You were gone a while," he says, blocking my path. Scratch is way too overprotective sometimes. This looks like one of them.

"So?" I reply.

"It's my job to keep you safe."

"I'm twelve. Old enough to look after myself." Scratch sighs, and moves aside. He knows when he's beaten. Kind of. "I'm going to feed the chickens."

"Fine." Scratch flies off into the sky. He looks like he's annoyed. It can be hard to tell. I angle to the right side of the house, where the hens are kept.

They cluck with greeting as I land on the edge of the cliff. I fold my wings against my back, warm with effort. They disappear through hidden slits in my clothes.

I head to the big tub where we keep the food, grabbing an old, broken mug. I dip it into the grain and throw the contents around the area. The chickens rush to it and peck at the soil eagerly. I sit on the dry earth. We haven't had rain for several days, and the ground is parched. The hens cluck at me, sharing their stories. I listen to tales passed down from their ancestors, tales of epic journeys to find food and shelter. I often prefer the hens to Scratch - especially when he's in a changeable mood. Like today.


End file.
